


His Miracles

by farad



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Daybook prompt: Chris (& or / any), OW, I was baptized in dirty water by the hands of the devil himself.</p><p>Thanks to the phenomenal Randi for her Delicious.com Daybook prompts!</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta-ed. All mistakes my very own. 
> 
> Apologies to Joe HIll for his inspiration. As with the prompter, I suspect he wouldn't have intended this either. *g*

_"We must remember that Satan has his miracles, too." - John Calvin_

 

Hot, so hot that it was like being in the middle of a fire – and he knew, he knew well what that was like. His life had been destroyed by fire, the remains of still smoldering when he'd galloped up to the carcass of it, the ruins still so hot that they burned. He still carried the scars, scars that burned now as if the wounds were new.

 

But they weren't they were just back, new burns over the wreckage of the old -

 

"You damned fool!" The voice was distant, faint. He knew it, even though it was different now, having a quality he had never heard before, not in this voice. It was the Devil – he knew it, knew that it was dangerous, knew that it was leading him into damnation. Knew that it was a voice that he wanted to tempt him, wanted to listen to.

 

"Let go – Chris, goddamit, let go!"

 

Something slammed into his arms, trying to move them – no, he thought through the smokey haze in his head, trying to force his hands away, to make him let go. He would not give in, he would stand strong against this thing that was wrong, that was not who he was, who he wanted to be.

 

"Chris!" The Devil was strong, tempting him, trying to draw him away. Trying to draw him into a rejection of everything he had ever held dear.

 

Another blow, this again to his arms, then a new voice, more familiar, one that should know better than to yell at him.

 

"Chris, we got it, we will get it out – let go!" He couldn't give into the Devil, couldn't do it – it didn't matter that the voice sounded like someone who understood why he couldn't let go, what it meant.

 

A third blow, this one to his back. He felt himself falling forward, his arms giving way under this new, different pressure. He'd been pulling for so long – forever, it seemed, pulling and burning and -

 

"We got it, Chris, we got it – let go!" the newer voice said in his ear, and he stopped falling suddenly, crashing into something strong and hard. Something safe. The impact was like another blow, this time knocking the air out of him. He didn't mean to let go, didn't mean to loosen his grip, but suddenly his hands were empty, only the burn there, a fire that climbed up his arms and into his chest, burning away what little was left of his heart.

 

He was aware of moving, of voices, the first two, the Devil, beguiling, and others, new ones but still ones that he knew. They said things he should understand, words that he knew, but his mind couldn't put them together into any pattern that made sense. He had to block out the evil, the temptation, had to block out that which he wanted more than anything else.

 

All he knew was heat and emptiness, in his hands, in his heart, in his head. Purifying, safe. Empty.

 

Then he was drowning. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there, where he was, only that he was drowning. Water flooded into his nose, as if chasing the fire – maybe it was, maybe it was the way of things, water chasing fire, drowning out the heat and burn, filling up the spaces where air had made the fire, traitor that it was. Water was good – water was salvation.

 

The pain was still there, but different now, muted, and he opened his mouth, taking in the water. It would wash away all the fire, everywhere, wash away the sins that followed him around, wash away the Devil. He swallowed, letting the water wash away the memories, the sorrows, the lies.

 

It was so quiet here, no voices, he could sleep with no dreams -

 

Air hit him first, like sand against his skin, then a blow to his back drove out the water, letting in air. He wondered if this was his Hell, to be forever filled with air, then fire, then water, over and over. He tried to lift his arms, to ward off – anything, whatever, to stop it all, but the blow came again from behind and he vomited more water, let in more air, and waited for the scalding fire. There was ringing, loud enough to drive out all thought but it was giving way to voices again, more voices, ones he knew, ones he didn't. He wished for the ringing to come back and drive out the others, but as if confirming that he were in Hell, the voices grew louder. The first one, the Devil, was close, and his words were the first ones that seemed to make sense – even though they didn't.

 

"You're all right, you son of a bitch. You're all right, just breathe, goddamit, just breathe."

 

He didn't seem to have a choice, the air coming in whether he wanted it or not, and with it, the fire that burned once more through him, up from his hands to his heart. Only this time, when it got to his head, it burned him up, taking away everything. Leaving him alone with the Devil.

 

*&*&*&*&*

 

The darkness didn't last forever. The pain came back first, the fire and the heat, and no matter how much water he wished for, there was only ever a small trickle sliding down the back of his throat. Never enough to drown, never enough to drive out the air. He dreamed of water and sleep and coolness when he wasn't dreaming of fire and smoke and heat.

 

The voices drifted in and out, some calling him from the fire, some from the water. Some from close by. The ones from close by seemed to grow louder, though, and angry, as if he had wronged them. As if they had more claim to him than the others, the quiet memory voices, the ones he missed.

 

The loud ones called, as if they held the balance between the water and the fire.

 

"Chris?" the voice was close, raspy as if it, too, had been in the fire. Worn as if it, too, were tired, looking for the peace of water and coolness. Of sleep. But it sounded like the Devil – though a tired, sad Devil. "It's all right – everything's all right. Casey and the baby are all right – you got them out."

 

The voice came just a little louder, a little closer, and he could feel the heat of the words as they blew against his mouth. "Casey and the baby are all right all right. Everybody is all right."

 

The water came then, just a trickle in the back of his throat, but this time, it was enough to ward away the evil. He drifted away in the coolness of it, but the fire was there, burning, but not as much.

 

*&*&*&*&*

 

"Well, you sorry son of a bitch, it's about damned time. You think you're that Rip Van Winkle guy, sleeping for forty years, waiting for your namesake to be an old man?"

 

He didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to come out of the cool wetness into the heat. He hurt, burning from his hands to his head to his chest – it burned to breathe and he thought he could cry except that there was no water left in him.

 

"Here," the voice said, and something cool was placed against his lips, something wet, and he let it in – until it flooded his throat and he coughed. "Easy now, slow – that's it, just a little."

 

Just a trickle, not enough, never enough, but it was better than nothing. It eased the burn where it touched and he thought again of drowning in it.

 

"That's it," the voice said. "Not too much – Nathan says you might throw up too much and we don't want any more of that – that's it, wait a few minutes and let's see how that sits."

 

The trickle stopped and the coolness left his lips, and the thought he might cry again, but there was still not enough water for that. He thought he might beg, too, but there wasn't enough water in his mouth, not even now, and he couldn't get it to move.

 

"Vin's gonna hate he missed this," the voice said softly. "He's been sitting here since he pulled you out of the water – sorry 'bout that, by the way. Didn't think about drowning you, only putting out the fire. You were still smoking when I tossed you in, and I guess I wasn't aware of my own strength."

 

He didn't try to make sense of the words, but the voice – the voice was easy and soft, one he knew, one he trusted. It was like the water, wet and smooth and cool. He drifted on it, easing back to darkness.

 

*&*&*&*&*&

 

The fire burned worse this time, lighting his way out of the darkness. He wanted to scream, tried to – and this time, the water didn't stop him, didn't rush out the air. He did, pushing the air from his lungs and up through his throat, and there was a sound, a strange, sound that burned his throat and his mouth -

 

"Easy, easy, it's all right," the raspy voice said in his ear, hot and dry. "Here."

 

He expected more heat, but coolness touched his lips, like before, and he felt the trickle of wetness, water, as it slid over his tongue and down his throat. The fire went out, the burn cooling, though the voice in his hear was still hot and dry.

 

"Buck said you woke up. Everything's all right – Casey and the baby are all right. You got 'em out, got the baby's bed out, too. The one you made. Nathan says you're gonna be all right, too, long as you rest." The trickle slowed then died, and the coolness left his lips. "Rest now. You're safe. I ain't gonna leave you."

 

The thought of it was like a spark in his mind, catching on dry timber as it burned faster and hotter. It threw up a memory, Vin standing in front of him, his blue eyes wide with hurt and anger, his hand on a doorknob. Leaving. Because – because Chris had told him to. Because Chris had said – because Chris had been stupid.

 

He fumbled, tried to reach out, but his hands were trapped, wrapped in something thick. He could feel them, couldn't anything -

 

"You're burned pretty bad," Vin said, "but Nathan says you'll heal. You ain't gonna be as pretty as you were, but reckon that don't matter much."

 

"Vin," he said, or tried to. His mouth was still dry, his tongue thick – or at least the part he could feel. It was like a dead weight in his mouth, heavy and awkward. He thought he heard 'Devil', 'Satan', 'evil', and he feared more than anything that his words were wrong. That he was wrong.

 

But Vin seemed to understand. "Yeah, it's me," he said. "Reckon it was a good thing I didn't get far away – again. Buck and I were talking, he was trying to get me to stay. That was when we saw the smoke. Damned good thing JD and Casey decided to build down next to the swimming hole. Otherwise, you'd have a busted back to go along with the burns. And them knots on your head from where you hit the rocks." He chuckled, a sound that fanned the hot coals deep down inside Chris. This fire, though, was one the water hadn't put out. Couldn't put out.

 

And now, he didn't want it to.

 

"Devil," he said, or tried to. It didn't sound like any word he knew, but the chuckle came again, feeding the coals. A couple of flames came to life, warm and soothing.

 

"Yeah, you're looking a might like the devil, all red and burned, and them knots on your head look a mite like horns," Vin said. "Guess I ain't the only one around, huh."

 

Chris struggled to find words his mouth would form, something more clear. The best he could find, though, was a plea. "Stay."

 

Vin's words were closer, hotter and dryer, and feeding the fire inside. "I can't never compete with your devils, Chris. But I will fight every damned one of them to keep you with me."

 

The water came up then, smooth, cool, and easy. This was where he was meant to be. And the Devil was here with him, exactly where he should be.

 

 


End file.
